Redemption
by Pale Treasures
Summary: Karenin's thoughts when he's alone with Annie for the first time, shortly after he has adopted her. One shot.


**Redemption**

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Everything belongs to Leo Tolstoy.

**Rating: **K

**Summary: **Karenin's thoughts when he's alone with Annie for the first time, shortly after he has adopted her.

* * *

He was not a soft-hearted man. He was unable to fool himself on that score, even when his lofty religious ideals and honourable deeds tempted him to consider himself in a benevolent light. Perhaps he _was_ honourable; it did not come easily, but he tried his hardest. He still believed it his duty, after everything that had happened. But the difficulty he had reigning in his resentment and bitterness could only bespeak of a nature not naturally inclined to clemency. It worried him. He ought to be better than that. Especially now. But there was no help for it. He was doing what he had felt to be right, what he had been inclined to do from the moment the child was born, but there was no gentleness in his heart convincing him that he meant it, no soft, paternal feelings towards the girl. He could not yet fully forgive Anna Arkadyevna for throwing her life away in such a shameful fashion. Even though he knew, even now, that there had been little left for her in her circumstances, he could tell himself at this time that a solution could have been arranged. Anything but suicide, especially when it meant leaving such a young child behind. _Two_ young children.

But what was done was done. He could no longer attempt anything to save her. He would no longer waste his time and sanity doing so. Other things were demanded of him from now on. He must face them capably and dutifully.

The child had been in his house for two days now, but he was not yet accustomed to her presence, and could often go about his business forgetting that she was there. It was only when her nurse shyly addressed him with regards to the child that he suddenly remembered. He could never tell whether he was pleased that she was there. She would have a good life, he would make certain of it – if nothing else, he would be able to provide for her. But there wasn't much else that he was convinced he would succeed at – nothing he felt certain he would be able to do for her, a child who didn't belong to him, and a girl no less.

It was impossible not to entertain such thoughts, even though they repulsed him. He was treading utterly unknown ground. The fact that he already had a child mattered little. It was only now, confronted with the current situation, that he realised he truly hadn't been very involved in Seryozha's life, that he barely knew his son. What did he want, what did he think of him? Impossible to say. He had only concerned himself with the drier elements of his upbringing. If this had been the way he had handled the rearing of his son, then what would he do for Anna's daughter? What shortcomings would he be faced with? What failures?

Nervousness took over and made him quiver. He was unprepared for this. He would not take back his decision, but he did not think he had it in him. He held no love for the child, to boot. How could he be successful? He was only doing what was right, what was expected of him – or perhaps not, which made it all the more necessary. But he lacked the skill to do it suitably.

There was only one thing left to do – the last thing that might be helpful. Slowly, he made his way towards the room appointed to be the nursery, freshly furnished to welcome the child. He walked slowly, as silently as he was able, hesitating with each step. The closer he got, the more he realised all was silent. Perhaps the child was asleep. His heart sank in relief. If so, he would walk away. It was the perfect excuse. Cowardly, he found himself wishing that the girl was asleep or gone from the room along with her nurse altogether. He did not know what to expect once he faced her. He did not know how he would, or should, react.

Slowly, he peeked through the door opened just a crack, trying to appraise the surroundings. Sunlight flooded freely through the large windows, illuminating the room to the point of near blindness. Golden dust twirled inside the cones of light formed by the sun. He dimly distinguished the child's crib, with a small figure in it. The figure moved slightly. She was awake.

He swallowed, but, for reasons unknown, pushed open the door noiselessly and proceeded. Her nurse dozed off in a chair near the window, unaware of his sudden arrival. Better that way. With silent steps, he walked towards the crib and peered solemnly at the child therein. The girl faced him with equal earnestness, not bursting into tears upon perceiving the stranger as another child might.

He took her in for a very long time, searching for he knew not what. Something of Anna's in her, unpolluted and promising still? Something of her father's? He found nothing as of yet. She was too small. Still, the longer he scrutinized her, the more something warm and appreciative began to steal over him. He was old, awkward and uneasy in all matters of the heart, but there was something moving about the black-haired, rosy-cheeked child, with extraordinary eyes, even swollen with sleep and which she blinked childishly every few seconds. Her face was even-featured and pleasing; it would grow very pretty one day, perhaps beautiful. It would be cause for concern, beauty. But he decided he would not dwell on such things for the present.

What life awaits you, Anna? What will you do? How will you be? What will you be known for? How strange that he still could not imagine it, could not guess, and one day, in the long-term future, he would look back on the memory he had of her as a baby and berate himself for not knowing when he had stood before her and stared at her.

He continued to stand, grave and imposing, before her crib; the girl's eyes became round and apprehensive, at length, and her thumb found its way into her mouth. She continued to stare back at him with an anxious expression. He felt a prickle of trepidation at the thought that she might begin to cry; she would awake the conveniently asleep nurse, but also show that she was frightened of him. He realised, then, that he did not want it. She was a sweet child, one he would not wish to alienate, even if he knew not how to interact with her otherwise. Her countenance was pure and open; she was unburdened by former sins. She could yet start her life in freedom. She could yet find redemption. The past did not have to touch her. No shackles would have to bind her. He would make certain of it. He would devote his life to the preservation of her virtue.

He had tried doing the same with her mother, however, but it had not borne the expected fruits. If only she had listened. He gazed warily at her child. Would her daughter, her namesake, do the same? Would she fall prey to the same mistakes, the same stubborn, untoward passion? Or had he been mistaken in his approach, somehow? Was it possible that the fault had been his, if only partially, and that he would have to act in a different manner to secure the happiness and safety of Anna's daughter? He stole a new look at the girl, taking in the sweet, unaware face, framed by dishevelled dark hair. His heart tightened in a foreign blend of fear and affection. It would pain him greatly if the girl had the same fate as her mother. There was so much innocence in her, so much potential for good. He must guard it; he must guard its little bearer.

He felt strange, with a heavy breast and a tired mind; he had never gone through such a swift, momentous change before. He had not known one, let alone himself, could grow to love another so quickly, after only a few minutes of contemplation. He did not know he held that capacity within. He had thought himself beyond many things. Anna's child had proved the first one wrong. Perhaps she would continue to do so. Perhaps she would teach him how to live life in an entirely different manner, rearrange and reassemble the person he was. Might she have such a power, beneath that innocuous, pale little body, could she hold such wisdom behind her small, delicate face? Suddenly, he wanted to find out. He wanted to put himself in her hands. He was curious about the future, _their_ future, which had been the last thing in his mind just before he had entered the room.

Perhaps... perhaps not all would go awry. Perhaps a new chance had been given him too. Regardless, he knew now he would do his best for little Annie. He would not forgive himself if he did anything less. She might love him or not, forget him or not, one day... but he would go to his grave knowing he had cherished and protected her, knowing he had given her a chance to be respected in life. Nothing else would do. Not for this Anna.


End file.
